Swords of the Heroes
by Daniel K. English
Summary: Three years after the Holy Grail War, Emiya Shirou finds himself stranded in a foreign land. This land is where monsters roam, where man is prey, and where the Claymore reside.
1. Into Rabona

_There is an old story  
>lost to turbulent times<br>about the strongest swords  
>buried in the mountains.<em>

**Chapter One: Into Rabona**

The warlock fled into the city. The hunter followed.

In the empty streets of Fuyuki City, where only three years ago the fifth and final Holy Grail War ended, the world that existed in the background of society continued onward. With the Holy Grail gone, the magi families from across the world that once concentrated on the War gradually shifted their focus to other pursuits. In fact, save the guardian of the land, the Tohsaka family, only a handful of magi remained in the city.

But that did not mean the city's three-hundred-plus year history with magic would end.

The end of the War meant only the end of an era.

The warlock's intentions followed these lines; the hunter, aware of this, intended to stop him. _This time, surely._ The existence of magic had brought tragedy after tragedy to Fuyuki in the past— including the Great Fire that consumed half the city before extinguishing. It went unsaid that the continued presence of magic, especially the presence of a warlock— an unsanctioned magi— meant more trouble lay in the future. Clutching his bow, the hunter cleared uneven rooftops, his leaps and strides carrying him distances unachieveable by normal humans. The warlock, hiding in the shadows of the city, moved as quickly as he did, as if gliding low over the concrete.

And as the chase reached the docks, where the waves lapped softly against the port, the warlock turned, his face still hidden behind his woolen shawl.

An arrow flew straight at him before shattering in midair.

Two more arrows, shot simultaneously, met the same fate before the hunter quietly leapt from a warehouse and onto even ground. The hunter watched the warlock from two dozen meters away.

"You are not the guardian of the land," the warlock said.

The hunter said nothing.

"I warded the docks, you see. Intruders will feel a compulsion to approach me."

An arrow materialized in the hunter's empty hand before being notched into the bow. The arrow flew, then slowed as if it passed some invisible territory. The warlock's eyes widened as his barriers shattered like glass, letting the arrow fly straight into his throat. With a bloody choke, he fell, writhing in a growing pool of blood. But the hunter simply summoned another arrow, eyes narrowing as he stared into the distance.

"Not fooled, are you?" The warlock studied the hunter quietly. A black facemask and hood. A strange black bow of unknown origin. A kevlar suit. The equipment let the hunter camouflage in an urban environment. It worked more so at nighttime. "My name is Herman von Grimm. Who are you?"

His answer was an arrow to his heart.

It shattered against a strengthened barrier.

"It is impolite to attack like so." Herman turned his gaze to the rooftops in the distance. He raised a gloved hand and gestured. "There you are."

Light engulfed the docks.

The rooftop Herman had gestured to was now covered in debris, smoke and molten steel. The hunter, however, was nowhere to be found. The decoy the hunter had sent was now a simple knife rocking on the ground.

A ghost of smile crossed the warlock's face, concealed by the scarf. "You're quite good at this," he said, sure that his opponent remained in the vicinity. "Your tactics match the testimonies of the other participants. You don't happen to be acquainted with the Holy Grail War, are you?"

Herman whirled before the hunter could plunge a sword into his back. The blade, gleaming in the moonlight, penetrated Herman's barrier with ease before burying straight into his heart.

"That was close," Herman's voice echoed. "I say I am good with illusions, and will be doubly careful around you.

"But please, do let us talk. The guardian of the land is a well-mannered girl but has yet provided me with any information regarding the War's champion." There was a pause in Herman's words before he continued. "You see, I should have been part of that War. My family hails from a long line of magi that has existed since Germany was a collection of tribes that clashed with Rome's legionnaires. I had a vested interest in participating in the War.

"But by the time I reached this backwater city, the War was already over."

White beams cut the docks from the rooves of several warehouses. The hunter danced about them as they carved molten lines in the ground.

"Understand," said Herman's voice, "that I only wish to fight the victor. A clean fight, like the one I should have gotten in the War. That is my purpose in life. Win or lose, I will return home."

The hunter notched an arrow and shot it into the distance. The beam extending from the furthest warehouse stopped. The other beams, too, ceased.

"Your mastery of the bow is commendable. That shot was done without magic, I see."

The hunter raised his bow defensively as a hound covered in molten lava appeared and lunged at him. Its jaws enclosed over the bow and, with a display of great strength, snapped the weapon cleanly in half. The pieces of the bow disintegrated as the hound lunged at the hunter again, a furious fire blazing in its eyes. A longsword met the hound's attack, skewering it cleanly through its throat and down its ribs.

More hounds pulled themselves out of the ground, forming a loose circle around him. They attacked him as one, and he retaliated with swift efficiency.

"That sword of yours is quite an artifact. My hounds are usually quite tough." As the hounds fell, more took their place. A mass of barking and growling creatures swarmed the hunter, overwhelming him with pure numbers. The air shimmered and Herman emerged, watching with detached interest as the struggling figure disappeared beneath a mass of fur. "Don't take it personally, my quiet pursuer. The guardian would be upset if she knew of my continued presence. I hear she has quite the fiery temperament, and I want not to risk facing those spirits she tamed."

Herman turned to leave. His hounds would take care of the remains.

_I͏̸ ̶̕a̢̛̕͞m̀̀͞ ̛t͏͞h̵̨͢͝é̡͏̵̵ ̡̨͡b̢̢͢ó̸̧͢͠n͘è͝ ̸̀͠ǫ̶̸́f̵̧҉̀ ͡͡m̢̧͝͡y͟͠ ̴̴͘͢͟s̸̴͟w̷̕o̷̴̧͢͝r̀̀͠d͠҉—͘͏_

The wind blew gently before roaring.

Herman stumbled as a great gust buffeted him. From the corner of his eye, he saw the hunter rise despite the hounds. He broke into guffaws. "I knew it! You're the champion of the Grail, are you not? The very person the guardian did her best to stop me from seeing came to me of his own violation."

The pile of hounds split as something blindly fast broke through, cutting through the warehouses with the strength of a natural disaster.

The illusion vanished. Herman rose from the rubble of a warehouse at the other side of the docks, coughing and laughing. His scarf and fedora were gone, revealing a man in his thirties with dirty blond hair and light blue eyes. Handsome save the madness glinting in his eyes.

"Yes! Yes! This is how it should be! The fight I _needed_—!"

Herman glanced upward as the hunter descended upon him, silver and gold eyes shining with cold brutality.

"To our battlefield!" Herman howled.

Then, in a flicker of multi-colored light, the docks were empty.

* * *

><p>He awoke in a cell. He had no idea where save the fact that he had been captured.<p>

But what happened? He had no memory of anything save—

_To our battlefield!_

He remembered everything and gritted his teeth. Shutting his eyes, he reached deep inside himself and tugged at the connection to the Grail he had gotten accustomed to the past three years. Prana trickled into his depleted circuits through the connection, though the warm presence of the Grail now felt slightly colder, as if it had grown distant. That was a bleak sign. Even in the United States his connection with the Grail didn't change.

A surging heat raced across his body. The cuts and bruises on his body healed over. When the faint thrumming in his chest receded, he opened his eyes.

It was dark, wherever he was.

There was a single, barred window. It told him a few things. For one, he deduced he was relatively close to the ground from the angle in which he could see the surface. It was nearing dusk. The air was fresh, much like the countryside. How far had Herman taken him from Fuyuki? Just as he was about to force his way out, heavy footsteps reached his ear. The dull groan of metal reminded him of the War, of how Arturia's armor made that soft sound when she wandered his home.

A shadow grew on the wall across his cell. He tensed.

It wasn't Herman. No, instead it was a young man in his twenties. While the young man too had blond hair, it was short. His facial features were different. Light brown eyes stared back at him from the metal bars.

"Who are you?" the young man asked.

He hesitated. "Archer."

"Your real name, please."

"I would prefer Archer, if you don't mind."

The young man sighed. "Fine, Archer. My name is Sid. I am a captain of the Holy City's guard."

"Sorry. Which city?"

Sid raised a brow. "The Holy City." When he got no response, he frowned. "Rabona, the City of Saints. You must be from the mountainside if you've no idea what Rabona is."

"Sorry."

"No matter. I would like to know how you got into the city."

"I don't know. I don't know where I am."

"You're in the city's dungeons—"

"I know that. I don't know where I am in relation to where I am from." Archer thought about his next words. "I was fighting this man, you see. One moment I am about to win, the next I awake in this cell."

"You are lying."

Archer answered unflinchingly. "I'm not."

"It certainly isn't the _whole_ story."

"It isn't," Archer admitted.

"We found you in the middle of the city after a great flash of lightning struck," Sid said.

"Was there a man with me? In his thirties, with a black coat, hat and a scarf?"

Sid thought for a moment. "No. None that I recall."

"I see."

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two. Sid spoke up. "You are not from around here, are you?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You look different."

"We all look different."

"But you even more so. And you... hmm. Tell me: do you fight?"

"Is that a recruitment pitch?"

"Perhaps. I don't trust you at all, but I cannot deny that you look nothing like anyone I have seen before. Your eyes are shaped differently and your skin is quite dark. If you said you were not from here, I would have no choice but to believe so."

Archer said nothing.

"Hmm. Right. So, do you know how to fight?"

"Yes."

"With a name like Archer, you must know how to use the bow. Your body shape suggests you are familiar with close combat as well."

"And?"

"Lately, the yoma have been vicious. We've lost three men this month alone. I will help grant you citizenship so long as you serve in the guard for, lets say, two years."

Archer didn't know what to think. He was still disoriented from his encounter with Herman. But from what little he knew about the context, what Sid was offering him was not entirely a bad deal. Most importantly, it was a chance to get information for relatively little cost. "I thought you said you didn't trust me."

"I don't. You will be under watch until I am convinced."

"And if I refuse?"

"You rot in this cell until someone remembers you."

"Hmm. I suppose I have little choice but to accept."

Sid grinned. "Good. Galk! We've got a recruit. Oh, and one more thing: if you betray us, your head will be on a pike outside the dungeon."

"I'll take that into consideration."

A large man, standing at least a head taller than Sid, emerged with the jingling of keys.

"Can we have your real name now?" Sid asked.

"It's Shirou."

* * *

><p>The large man named Galk led Shirou out of the dungeon. It was after his first look at Rabona did Shirou begin to comprehend his situation.<p>

Thatched cottages clustered in circular— often disorganized— groups were an odd sight to behold. The walls in the distance reminded him of Europe's castles. He was looking at a nearly textbook example of a fortified town from the Middle Ages, from design down to the smallest details.

Galk mistook Shirou's surprise for amazement.

"Quite a large town, isn't it?" Galk's deep voice seemed to move the earth.

"It's certainly new to me."

"The city's guard protects tens of thousands of people living in these walls. The yoma try to get in every day, because this city is a feast for them." Shirou tilted his head upon hearing the word again. _Yoma._ From Sid words, he could only guess that they were hostiles. If the city were a feast for yoma, then were these yoma some kind of monster? "Don't worry. We'll make sure you're ready to fight before we let you go. We don't make it a habit of sending people to their deaths."

His curiosity was getting the best of him. On one hand he could escape. It didn't seem difficult. On the other hand, this information dangling in front of him was irresistable in an odd way.

"May I ask how you treated yourself?"

"Pardon?"

"When we found you, you were quite wounded. Bruiser, bite marks, cuts and scrapes." Shirou was quiet. Galk noticed this and nodded. "Very well. I hope one day you can tell us."

"Maybe."

As the two walked downhill from the dungeons, to what seemed to be the barracks, Shirou noticed people. The citizens of Rabona. Shirou didn't know what to make of their appearance, though in the back of his mind he already knew. Instead of t-shirts, jeans or even sneakers, what he saw were tunics, linen pants and cloth shoes. The setup was too elaborate to be an illusion despite Herman's claimed mastery over them. Shirou remembered a moment when multi-colored lights blinded him before he awoke and swallowed the lump in his throat.

Herman had pulled a Zelretch on him.

He'd never guess how Herman got his hands on dimensional-crossing magic.

"Galk," Shirou said. "Where are you taking me?"

"The barracks," the large man answered.

At the end of a narrow, brick street, Shirou spotted a two-story building guarded by men in armor. He glanced at their pikes and reaffirmed that he was no longer anywhere near Fuyuki City.

Thick wooden doors opened and Galk gestured for Shirou to follow. Inside the barracks was dusty. The windows provided light, and several unlit candles stood upon empty tables. A few men sitting on one side of the room glanced towards the pair, giving Shirou especially curious looks, before beginning a hushed conversation.

"— man from the sky—"

"He's a yoma, I bet."

"— new recruit."

Shirou forced himself to stop eavesdropping. Galk returned with two swords in belts on hand. He gave one to Shirou before calling to the men. "Harold! Get over here. There's a new recruit."

A dark-haired man in his late thirties and a five o'clock shadow shot to his feet. "Righty-o!"

Galk turned to Shirou. "You're going to spar with him. No, don't worry. I'll stop you two before you kill each other. It's just a way to see how well you can use a sword."

Shirou nodded.

Galk ushered him out another door, to an enclosed area behind the barracks. There the man named Harold was already waiting, alongside a few other off-duty guards whom were sitt. Shirou became intensely aware of gazes centering upon him, from the audience in the yard to the men watching discretely from the second floor of the barracks. And then there was Galk's watchful eyes.

"'ello there, new blood," Harold said, drawing his own sword. "Ready?"

Shirou weighed the longsword in his hand. It was far from the best he had held— though most swords paled in comparison to the ones he had seen three-years ago— but a part of him knew he had been spoiled by quality. A part of his mind _clicked_ as he memorized its length. "I'm ready."

"To first blood or a fatal wound." Galk eyed them both. "Don't go too far. Begin!"

Harold took two steps forward. Just out of range of their weapons, Shirou noted. They circled each other as the onlookers called bets. They heavily favored Harold, though a few adventurous souls put their money on Shirou. Then it happened. As Harold's feet crossed, Shirou stepped forward, sword up to fend off a downwards swing. It met and parried Harold's attack cleanly. Shirou's sword lightly touched Harold's upper arm.

"One to Shirou," Galk said. "Very nice. Next round."

A couple of cheers were drowned by a chorus of boos. Harold cursed loudly at his fellow guards before returning his attention to Shirou. "Nice one. You've done this?"

"A little," Shirou answered.

"Begin!"

Harold struck immediately. To Shirou, it happened in slow motion. His sword parried the blow as he stepped into the swing. Harold jumped back the second he saw his attack fail. Shirou took another step forward, trying to lock his sword with Harold's only for Harold to retreat again.

"That's fuckin' cute," Harold muttered.

Harold kicked with his forward leg, striking Shirou's shin, and quickly followed with a thrust.

Shirou evaded the attack instead of parrying. "So kicks and punches are allowed?"

Galk nodded. "So long as the injury is minor."

Shirou stepped forward again, bringing himself in range. Harold punched with his free hand. Shirou blocked with his forearm and struck back with the pummel of his sword.

Harold cursed as Shirou quickly swung downward. The blade touched Harold's upper arm.

"Alright, I've seen enough," said Galk. He nodded in approval to Shirou. "We'll let you take a break while we figure out what to do with you. Harold!" Harold flinched. "Show Shirou to a meal and an empty bed. Keep an eye on him. Understood?"

"Yessir."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Shirou."

"Thank you," said Shirou.

As Galk departed, Shirou turned his attention to Harold. Harold turned the stare, seemed to find something acceptable, and nodded. "Well, that was a nice spar," he said. "Got me good there, I'll admit. But I'm a better drinker than I am a swordsman; I'm sure you'll never beat me at that."

"That's nothing to be proud of!" someone said.

"Get bent!" Harold shouted back. He grinned affably. "Now, Shirou, right? Odd name. Lets get some food in ye. You'll learn how much to _hate_ the gruel they serve here."

* * *

><p><em>an: Yes, this Shirou is AU. No, I don't have a detailed story on what happened in his Holy Grail War. No, I currently do not have plans to introduce Rin, Saber, Sakura or anyone else from the Nasuverse into the story. _

_No, I don't care much for Nasu-ology; I prefer writing something enjoyable over writing something canonically accurate. I don't know if this will be a harem. Probably not._

_And no, I don't know if this will crash and burn again. With the _Claymore_ manga finished, hopefully not._


	2. The Monsters in Our Midst

**Chapter Two: The Monsters in Our Midst**

Shirou failed to realize how desperate the Rabonian guards were to recruit their prisoners until his first day at the Holy City had passed. And it was by the first week he discovered how desperate _he_ had been to accept Sid's offer.

According to Galk a recruit would expect at least two months and up to two years of training before being given work to do as a guard. Shirou had been assigned duty the very next day. They found light armor that fit him and sent him off to the ramparts. Shirou protested— he didn't even know what to look for. Sid's reassurance that another man on the wall was enough unsettled him to say the least.

So in the morning Shirou made his way to the wall, with three others assigned to watch him. He found battlements that were grossly undermanned. The wall and its twenty-eight towers held a scarce one hundred and twenty soldiers. It was less than a quarter of what he expected.

"Aye," Harold had said, "we _are_ a bit short lately. Our younglin's keep gettin' killed."

Did that mean the city was in danger?

"No. The casualties just add up over time. The militia can get the numbers we need in case of an emergency and we have the supplies to equip 'em. Our standing guards, though, is another story."

Weren't they risking a breach if their security was too light?

"Aye. We know that. But the only thing that brings men to our ranks is money."

They didn't have enough?

Harold couldn't answer that question. When Shirou found Galk at the barracks later, the captain answered with some hesitance. "The city relies on the fields that surround it for food," he explained. "Whatever surplus we make becomes profit. Local craftsmen and artisans, as well as merchants, contribute to the rest of our economy. We need men to protect the fields, the villages that surround us, as well as the caravans that move from village to village. We don't have the men to do everything."

"And you don't have the money to acquire them," Shirou finished.

"Meanwhile we're losing what we have to the yoma."

"That would explain why you recruited me."

"You don't seem the malicious type. And you did join."

"Yes, I did."

"If it makes you feel any better, you are the first to not have spat at us."

And the week passed like that. Shirou followed orders, ate and slept at the barracks, and learned as much as he could about Rabona and the yoma that plagued it. The rest of the guards were friendly enough to him, though Shirou believed it to be his lack of a criminal record here. They did have a playful streak— he learned of a betting pool among the guardsmen on how long Shirou would survive before a yoma got to him. Surprisingly, it was quite in his favor.

"Well, ya did whip my sorry ass," Harold said at lunch. "That counts for something. I've been a guard for nearly eleven years. Been bitten a couple times but thats it."

"What are yoma anyway?"

Harold nearly spat his drink. "What in buggin' hells? What are yoma? Did you just ask that?"

"I have never seen one," Shirou admitted.

"What are, ugh, look. Yoma are monsters. They hunt men, women, children and the elderly and eat their intestines. They're wicked fast and strong. They can also hide by disguising themselves as people. I lost my brother and several friends to those bastards." Harold drained the rest of his cup.

"I'm sorry."

"Just, whatever. What about you? You have family?"

"No. My father and mother died in a fire. The man who took care of me died when I was younger. Since then, it has been me and a guardian of mine."

Harold frowned as he tore into a loaf of bread. "'ny women?"

Shirou drank his gruel. It was tasteless. "Not exactly."

"Not exactly?" A grin grew on Harold's face. "I'd like an explanation, if you don't mind."

"I have a few friends."

"How many? Two? Three?"

"Several?"

"Several!" Harold roared with laughter. "What are you doing here, then?"

"I'm far from home."

"Ah. Well. You can just settle here and find a woman." Harold leaned towards him and whispered, "That girl who works at the bakery is a good choice. Her name's Sherry."

"I'm not interested in a relationship."

"That's what I used to say. Then I grew up and got lonely."

Shirou had nothing to say to that.

"Well, the Capt'n Galk told me to take you somewhere after food." Harold rose, waving at another guard in the barracks. "C'mon. I've been told it's important."

With a nod, Shirou grabbed his bread and left.

He never saw one of the other guards snatch the rest of his gruel.

* * *

><p>"Here we are."<p>

Shirou studied the neighboring houses. Stone and wood. It seemed like a relatively nice place to live. In the distance he spotted the bakery that sold the good bread. "Where is here?"

"Your new home," Harold answered as he pushed open the door.

Sid emerged from inside. "Shirou? There you are." He gestured for the two to enter. Shirou reluctantly followed Harold inside. "This'll be your residence, Shirou," Sid said. "The Fathers wished it so, and we happened to have one available."

That suprised Shirou. The Father were the closest Rabona had to a government. They were in charge of the cathedral at the center of the city, which served in many ways as the center of the city. As far as he could tell, all the guards were religious.

Shirou examined the house. Wooden floors, stone walls, large hearth. From what he had seen so far, it was one of the more luxurious homes in Rabona. "Well I can't complain, but," he turned back to Sid. "Did the Father mention why I needed one?"

"Well you can hardly live at the barracks."

"True. But I could've roomed at the inn," Shirou pointed out.

"Hmm. True. But that's not much to look forward to." Sid reached into the pouch on his belt and withdrew a purse. He tossed it to Shirou. "Your salary, by the way. No, don't bother arguing. We know you'd be strapped for money if you're not from around here— oh, don't give me that look. We're not stupid!— so take your pay early. We'll work you hard for that, but you'll get the money you earn."

"I thought you didn't _have_ more money."

Sid's smile was tight as he placed a hand on Shirou's shoulder. "Then you better work _extra_ hard."

"I don't feel reassured at all."

"Try to be. You're off for the rest of the day. Harold, take this," Sid said as he handed over the papers that were on a table, "back to the barracks."

"Yessir."

"I'll see you two in the morning."

When the door closed behind the two of them, Shirou collapsed into a chair as if his strings had been cut. There was an aching weariness that had settled in his bones since the day he had arrived, and now, alone, he could finally relax.

In the week, not only had he been getting familiar with the city to the best extent that he could; Shirou had also been finding as many clues as he could in regards to Herman.

He found nothing.

That meant either Herman did not come to this foreign world or that Herman was covering his tracks: hiding, waiting and watching. Neither scenario brought Shirou any comfort. He had no delusion in sending himself back save Rin or perhaps even Zelretch himself coming to his rescue. And Herman— well, the warlock made himself known as a cunning man as well as a formidable magi in the time he stayed at Fuyuki. If Herman had been a contender during the Holy Grail War three years ago, he would have without a doubt been the victor. And now all Shirou could do was grasp at straws. Straws he didn't even have.

He rose from his chair and explored the house to keep his mind off the unknown. If anything, the _well_ in his backyard nailed in the fact he was far behind his time. He peeked down it once before setting the cover back over it.

Hopefully there won't be a drought, Shirou mused.

But as he found the bed and collapsed into it— a bit stiffer than the beds in the barracks— the real question that bothered him returned.

What was he to do next?

* * *

><p>"Fightin' yoma 's a lot different from fightin' men," Harold said while adjusting the straps on his chestplate. "Ya see, men you can predict. You know when a man wants to strike because his body moves so. But a yoma ain't like that. They're devils. They don't move which way and follow like a man does. One moment they're far as the eye can see, then next you've got to get your shield up or lose your face."<p>

Shirou listened, reflecting on his own experience with fighting monsters.

A man named Ronald, who watched the patrol's right flank, continued. "Not just that. Some of these yoma be wild beasts. You're fighting a dog or a lion with the strength to crush stone. Hard enough to fight the normal ones; now you gotta fight the yoma kind."

Their rear guard spoke up. "Remember Ralph? Got mauled by one he did."

"That he did," their right flank said. "Took his arm clean 'fore he got a sword through its head."

"Hey! We don't need Shirou terrified yet," Harold shouted. He took a look at Shirou, who maintained a passive expression, and mistook his calm for supressed anxiety. "Look. It's o-kay to be scared. I was my first time out here. But the chances you'll meet one on your first day is teensy."

"I'm fine," Shirou said.

He neglected to say his luck was often that bad. A case of bad luck was how he got involved in the War, after all.

"Good. Now here comes a merchant. We check up on them before we let them go. Keeps security tight so those monsters won't weasel past the walls."

"Harold, you said the yoma disguise themselves. How do you know if someone is a yoma?"

"You don't." Before Shirou could speak, Harold waved to the approaching caravan. The caravan's guards, four in chainmail with swords, noticed them and waved back. The distance closed, and Harold eyed the guards as the horses slowed to a stop. "How ye folks doin'? Any trouble?"

"Naw, road was quiet," one of the caravan guards answered.

"Wish it was everyday."

"If they were we'd be out of a job." They shared a laugh.

"What's on board?" Ronald asked.

The caravan guards looked at each other. A soft, middle-aged man poked his head out of the caravan. "Wheat, salt, fur and some weapons. Also," he glanced back into his caravan, "a sculpture of Teresa and Clare from an artisan in Mona."

Ronald peeked inside, raised his brows and nodded.

Shirou whispered to Harold. "One of them is a yoma I think."

Harold turned a stern gaze in his direction. "What do you mean? How do you know?"

"There's a smell. Like something rotting."

Harold smelled the air. It was dry, but he smelled no rot. He nudged at the men behind him. "Simon, Cord. Do you smell anything spoiling?"

They sniffed and shook their heads.

Harold frowned. "Which one would—"

That was when it happened. Ronald and the merchant screamed. The four caravan guards went bug-eyed as their two horses grew sharp teeth and bit the heads off of Ronald and their client. One of the horses swat its tail— not a horse's tail but a thick tail like a lizard's with teeth at the end— at a caravan guard and scraped off half his face. Chailmail rings scattered like coins on the road, followed by blood and a corpse.

As Ronald's body collapsed, the horses shook free of their harnesses, tearing apart the front end of the caravan with unnatural strength.

To their added surprise, Shirou was the one to react first.

His sword drawn, he thrusted at the throat of one of the creatures. He was quick enough to cut it, but then it turned and kicked at him with its hind leg. Shirou dodged, his sword clattering on the dirt.

Harold pulled Shirou back and barked orders. "You three, get with us! Simon, Cord, circle 'em!"

"Fat chance," a horses growled. Its voice was guttural, almost a hiss.

Its partner galloped around the caravan with a cackling laugh, before charging straight at the caravan guards. Horns sprouted from its head, neck and body, tearing at them as it thrashed.

"Shirou, get your sword! Cord with me! Simon, take its rear!"

Harold and the rest of the Rabonian guards tried to box a horse in, but the way its body elongated and transformed made it impossible to flank. A heavy tail struck Cord square in his shield and sent him sprawling in the dirt. His armor made it impossible to stand before the horse plunged a sword-like leg into the man's chest.

Harold took the opportunity to plunge his own sword into the base of its neck, only to get thrown off.

The creature sneered. "You fucking humans think—"

Shirou beheaded it from behind before turning to the other. One caravan guard lay against the broken caravan, bleeding from his arm. The other two guards were desperately defending against the flailing beast. As Harold shouted, Shirou ran forward.

The yoma caught Shirou's movement and kicked a caravan guard at him.

Shirou nimbly evaded before catching the creature's tail against the bladed edge of his sword. The stubbed remains of the tail knocked away his sword, but that didn't phase him. He drew the dagger from his belt and leapt on the horse, hacking away at its back. It roared with fury before the two caravan guards plunged their weapons into its body. Harold and Simon did the same and the combined weight of the five threw the yoma into the dirt. It was chaos then. They stabbed and cut and shouted and cursed until all that was left was a shredded corpse. The struggle had lasted barely two minutes.

"By Teresa! We're alive!" one of the caravan guards huffed as he fell back into the dirt.

The others seemed to share that relief. Harold glanced at Shirou. "So," he said between heavy breaths, "what do you think of 'em yoma, eh?"

* * *

><p>There was a sense of relief when they returned to the city with the help of other guards and caravans.<p>

Shirou watched the others like a hawk as Harold wheezed, having lost his wind when he had been knocked away. Galk had met them with several men at the city's gates. Shirou watched the regretful but detached way the men took away the corpses— though if attacks like that happened frequently, he could understand their callousness. It was draining to see familiar faces twisted in death like that.

Upon hearing Shirou's performance, though, Galk's stern stare took on a hint of approval.

"Very nice. Few recruits get by their first encounter like that."

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

Galk waved it off. "We guards put our lives on the line knowing the danger. Fighting for the lives of others is an worthy cause to die for." Shirou remained quiet. Galk didn't understand. "You're probably tired. You'll get the day off if you—"

Shirou shook his head. "That's alright. I'm fine. I volunteer to patrol tomorrow as well."

Galk raised a brow. "You think you can handle it?"

Shirou nodded.

He remained silent for the rest of the day contemplating on the yoma he had seen. Four deaths in two minutes. At that rate the situation at Rabona would rapidly turn dire. Yes, now he certainly did understand Sid's need to recruit more guards. And as abrupt the role thrusted upon him was, Shirou found a level of acceptance— and defiance. The yoma seemed fierce; the guards could use his help. And help was the one thing Shirou would always give.

* * *

><p><em>an: I don't have a regular update schedule for this. I write at home or in between classes._

_And just to repeat, the entire Holy Grail War was an AU. The entire War was an AU. (And no I won't write the details about it. I made that mistake last time.)_


	3. The Jaws of Demise, Part One

**Chapter Three: The Jaws of Demise, Part One**

Shirou shrugged the bag off his shoulders and began removing his armor. Yoma blood had dried into black crusts that flaked off the metal. It left a foul, pungent smell that nauseated him. He was glad to be rid of it. As he stripped his equipment and left it on the barracks table for the others to sort, the door creaked open. A face that was growing increasingly familiar appeared. Harold strolled inside carrying a woven basket covered in a faded blue cloth.

"Another one, eh?" Harold asked dryly. He picked up the gut-covered sword leaning against the leg of the table. "The other recruits are complainin' 'bout the mess you leave behind."

Shirou blinked. "It's not my fault the yoma bleed when I stab them."

"You can certainly bleed them less."

"Only if they stop struggling."

"I heard what happened. You're becomin' somethin' of a good luck charm around here."

"Harold, I've fighting yoma on every one of my patrols since I've started," Shirou grumbled, rolling his neck. Both heard a crack. "I can hardly consider that good luck."

"Maybe not. But it's not that way to the others."

"What do you mean?"

"The men on your patrols end up comin' home. And all of them thank _you_."

"I'm just doing my job. You're the one who got promoted, _captain_."

Harold grinned and shrugged, setting the sword back against the table leg. "Well, they can hardly promote a man on duty for just a month. You'd be the target of envy—though that might change soon. Do you know how many requests I've gotten from the others to transfer into your rounds? The paperwork is killin' me faster than any of the yoma out there, I'll tell ya that."

"You're just being lazy."

"Here." Harold shoved the basket into Shirou's arms. "Sherry wanted you to have that."

Shirou lifted the cloth. "Bread?"

"Aye. You've got somethin' of an admirer in her." He leaned in close.

Shirou frowned. "Hmm."

"Shirou!" A man Shirou recognized but didn't remember the name of approached them. He seemed awkward. "The guys were wonderin' if you were makin' dinner again."

"You're making dinner again? Why didn' ya tell me?"

Shirou rolled his eyes. "I'm not. Sorry, but I'm a bit tired today. Maybe on an easier day."

The man's shoulders slumped a bit. "It's alright."

Harold eyed the man as he left. As soon as the guard was out of hearing range, he whispered, "Are ya really makin' dinner or what? The wife's been askin' if ye'd come over. That dish with the dried fish really set her to learnin' from ya." He paused. "And I wouldn't mind eatin' that bird dish again."

Food culture—that was one thing Shirou picked up in his month in Rabona. Many of the dishes reminded him of the food during Europe's Middle Ages; bread, cheese, vegetables, few meats and lots of alcohol. The variety available to him was greater than he expected, for as far as he could tell there were no nobles in the city. While bread was the cheapest food available, the other types of food wasn't so outrageously priced. It was a small mercy that he welcomed with open arms.

Then Harold stumbled upon him cooking and everything went to hell.

"No, I'm not making dinner. I'm tired. I'll just make a stew, eat some bread and cheese, and call it a night."

"Oh." Shirou could see the hope disappear from Harold's expression. "Well. That's fine then. We were having a roast t'night anyway." Harold hesitated, licking his lips. "Can _you_ make a roast?"

"Yes, I can."

"Are you _sure_ you're not making dinner? I mean, I can talk to Anne, tell her to—"

"Have a good night, Harold." Shirou glanced towards the dozen off-duty guards who were listening in. He regretted bringing that pie over last week. "Good night, guys."

The door shut behind him. He took a deep breath of fresh air, which lifted his mood quickly. It was times like these he hated how his nose detected magical energy—in this case, coming from the yoma. There was never a chance to figure out _why_, but he had guessed the reason: Herman. Perhaps Herman had engineered monsters like yoma and unleashed them upon this land? It was a farfetched theory full of holes, one being the inconsistency in time. After all, yoma had existed in this land for much, much longer. But Shirou couldn't shake the idea that Herman was somehow involved in the existence of these monsters.

* * *

><p>When many of the Fathers were the gentle, friendly kind who lived for spirituality, Father Mason was not one of them. He had a wizened look, yes. At first glance he seemed not so different from the other Fathers with his balding head and wrinkles. And yet instead of the grandfatherly demeanor many of the other clergyman possessed, Father Mason was a cold, conniving politician through and through.<p>

"Sid," he said as he took his seat at the desk. His office, full of books and parchments, held a single statue of Teresa and Clare. It was quite dusty. "I have heard of a new recruit in your ranks."

Sid guarded his disdain for the Father behind a stoic mask. "There have been a few. Which do you refer to?"

"The one that does not attend mass."

"Which one is that?"

"The one your men have been talking about." Sid raised a brow. "Yes, that one."

"Did you need something from Shirou?"

"So that is his name."

"Shirou has been on duty for a month now. He has displayed great aptitude in his job." Father Mason rose and began pacing the room. Sid seethed within; for one he hated the way the Father played his hand so often, nudging this way and that, like a child playing with a toy. The last thing he wanted was Shirou to be under such an influence. "Did you find something _inadequate_ with his work, Father?"

"No. Far from adequate." The Father shut his eyes. "He needs to attend mass."

"I do not believe he follows Teresa and Clare," Sid said.

"He is a heathen?" Sid nodded slowly. "Then get him _out_ of here."

"Is there a reason why? He does more than his own share!"

"Because the goddesses will not stand for a heathen in this city, where he spreads his unrest and taint! This land is for the faithful, and I will not have anyone _less_ here."

"He keeps my men _safe._ He protects this city better than _anyone_ I've ever seen."

"Sid, child," Father Mason began, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know how you hate the way I push these issues. It is unbecoming for a Father to be anything but warm and forgiving." Sid held back a scoff. "But you see, if I do like the rest of my peers and look away, I will be exposing the city to a very possible danger."

"Danger? What kind of _danger_ is there?"

"I don't expect a boy of your position to understand the political situation in our fair city. But if you trust anything I say, trust me when I say that your recruit is an outlier that may lead to instability."

"Then explain it to me."

Father Mason sighed. Sid hated it when the Father treated him like a boy. "You understand that the strength of our city exists in the unity of our city's people. Us Fathers lead, you guards protect, and the rest provide.

"This allows us to function as a great machine in this harsh land where the yoma will tear us to pieces if we are the least careful. We count on the teachings of the goddesses Teresa and Clare to guide us all in the right path." The Father turned a studious eye to Sid, who was listening to the lecture rather astutely. "The teachings are strict but fair. It gives us all the strength to continue by faith and discipline. We are united under a single belief.

"In comes your recruit, with a different sense of value. Different beliefs. He proves more than capable against those monsters. The people admire him, pursue him. Ideologies clash. Our order falls apart."

Sid blinked. On one hand, the Father's words sounded much like bigotry. On the other hand, there was a logic in his explanation, a possibility that sounded farfetched—but possible. "I do not believe," Sid said slowly, "that Shirou represents a threat."

"Can you guarantee his loyalty?" the Father asked.

Sid hesitated. Shirou was a mystery even in the month he had been in service. Shirou was a reliable man, but _had_ been a prisoner. The captain wanted to believe Shirou was loyal, and yet the weight of his responsibilities held him back. In the back of Sid's mind, there was always the chance that he was wrong. And when he was wrong, the blood that spilled would be that of his men and the people.

"No, Father."

The Father regarded Sid for a quiet, stifling moment. It was like many years ago, when Sid was a child who had gotten into trouble and was reprimanded in a stern but gentle way by one of the Church's students.

"Perhaps I shouldn't be telling you this, Sid," Mason said softly. "I believe more in survivors than saints."

Sid had a questioning look.

"This world of ours is unforgiving. We need all the advantage we can get. If you can convince your recruit to help us, stay with us, or guarantee me his loyalty, then..." Mason shrugged. "Then I may be able to do something about the Fathers' unrest."

"The other Fathers?"

Father Mason chuckled. It caught Sid off guard—Father Mason never laughed. "You certainly don't think I am the only one to have noticed your friend, do you?"

"But they haven't—"

"_They_ are better at this than I am. It's practically a requirement."

"I-I didn't..."

"You are free to go. May the goddesses bless you."

* * *

><p>It was at the stroke of dawn when Shirou heard a knock on his door. He pulled away from his breakfast of fruit and bread to answer. Standing at the foot of his door was a young woman, shorter than he was by a head. It was difficult to consider her pretty in comparison to the women he knew in his earlier years, but she was definitely more eye-catching than most of the local girls.<p>

Even if she was only fourteen.

Shirley had a rugged head of dark ginger hair, cut shoulder-length by what must have been a knife or crude scissors. It was covered by a white scarf dotted with red flowers. Her lean figure hid beneath a pretty, if large, red woolen dress. Her callous hands clasped in front of her over the handle of a straw basket of bread, a shy gesture that did not match the curious and hopeful gleam in her eyes when they made contact with his. Her face was one he had seen much too often the past month; indeed, she had visited even more than Harold did. If he tried, he could guess the number of freckles she had on her face.

Shirou swallowed dryly. "Shirley. Good morning."

"Good morning to you too, Shirou." She lifted the basket past waist-high. "Mother sends her regards."

"Another? Harold brought the one you sent through him just yesterday." He accepted the basket nevertheless and invited her inside. She entered nervously, her eyes flitting around the house with abject curiosity.

"Mother wonders whether you will be free to help at the bakery later today," Shirley said.

He cringed inwardly. It happened once. The bakery was practically next door, so he borrowed their ovens to make pumpkin pie. The pie was a congratulatory gift to Harold for his promotion. Marian, Shirley's mother, found out and had him bake more for the bakery to sell. They sold remarkably well, and Marian had been hounding Shirou to help out ever since.

Not to mention the not-so-subtle push she gave Shirley when it came to him.

"I will, maybe," he answered. He set the basket on his table, beside the other basket of bread he had gotten from Harold. "My patrol ends early today, for some reason."

Shirley nodded, fidgeting with her fingers until she pried them apart.

It wasn't hard for him to see that she had a crush on him. After Sakura, these signs became painfully obvious. He hoped there would come a time when he could politely turn her little infatuation away, or that she would grow out of it, but that time didn't seem to be soon.

Shirley spoke up again. "And father, he wishes to ask if you would be available for dinner tonight."

He cringed again. After Harold roped him into having dinner with his family—which quickly led to the exposure of his cooking talents—Shirley's family found out and did the same. He figured he had passed some sort of test, as Jonathan, Shirley's father, seemed rather interrogative of him that night.

But could he blame them?

During Europe's Middle Ages, peasant families married their daughters to other families as a way to establish bonds between families. There were political reasons as well as socio-economic reasons for marriage then.

It wasn't too different in Rabona. Shirley's family owned a bakery—which made them _relatively_ well off—but it didn't change the fact that Jonathan and Marian were getting older and that Shirley was unmarried. Even with the protection of the city's walls, families living in Rabona craved what extra security they could get. And Shirou seemed to represent that for Shirley's family; he could succeed their bakery; they would pay little dowry because he had no family; and he could protect them in times of need thanks to being a guard. Save her marrying a rich merchant, Shirou was Shirley's best chance at a more pleasant life.

_No_—it was likely far more complex than that, but that was what he understood.

They didn't _need_ him, but they were close to it.

And as much as he wanted to help them, Shirou couldn't marry a fourteen-year old. Even if girls married as early as twelve. He needed a way to explain that without hurting her.

Before Shirou could respond, a guardsman barged inside in a hurry. There was a brittle edge of panic in his voice.

"We've got a problem, Shirou. Help me fetch everyone," the guardsman said.

Shirou sighed inwardly. "Sure. We'll have to talk later, Shirley."

The girl shrank back, nodding quietly. He pretended not to notice how she lingered near him before taking off back to her bakery.

He grabbed a bun that wasn't too hard to chew from one of the baskets, tossed another to the guard, and left.

The ramparts were alive with activity. Guards arming themselves with swords, javelins, and bows. Guards carrying supplies all across the walls. Shirou found himself swept up in the chaos without knowing what was happening. It wasn't until he climbed to the top of the walls, a score of full quivers in his arms, did he find the cause of commotion.

It towered in the distance like a swaying pillar of putrid grey flesh. Eight spidery legs, each as tall as the cathedral, crossed the valley surrounding the city in slow, sure strides. Shirou blinked as he saw things fall from the monster as it moved. Its skin was _moving._ He blinked again and realized the tower monster carried hundreds of thousands of yoma on it. He vaguely recalled the image of a hairy spider, covered in hundreds of its tiny infants. But this one was less a spider, more a _giant_ virus—stalk, tails, and all. He quietly turned his Reinforcement on, feeling a single circuit flooding with heat. His vision magnified like a long-distance scope. His eyes honed in on the carrier yoma, studying the hundreds of gaping maws that each held thousands of sharp teeth.

What caught his attention lay at the top of the tower of flesh, where he caught the opening of a maw filled with yoma. The sight froze the blood in his veins.

"Incoming!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

The maws spat. Black masses covered in thick saliva sailed across the sky. Some collided into the walls like cannonballs, causing small tremors beneath the guards' feet. Others flew right over the walls, plummeting straight into the city with thunderous crashes.

One smashed into the parapet. It was a perfect sphere of a black, hard substance. It must have been considering it remained intact after being used as ammunition for what must have been a yoma's improvised artillery barrage. When Shirou's eyes found it, they widened and he drew his sword, opening two more circuits to Reinforce his weapon, his armor, and the rest of his body.

The sphere _unfolded_ along the grooves of its surface. Several spindly legs emerged from within the sphere's tucked folds, finding purchase on the parapet's stone. The smooth sphere broke into smaller, curved plates, sliding beneath one another until the mass reshaped itself into an enormous curled creature. Its head, tiny compared to the rest of its body, swiveled on a thin joint until its bony head locked onto the guards surrounding it. Mandibles stretched, and a thin tendril shot out of its mouth, spearing an unfortunate guardsman.

In the few seconds it happened, Shirou ran, reaching the monster with an unholy speed.

Shirou's sword rang against the monster's shell. The rest of the guards backed away when they saw what they were up against. A brave duo dragged their fallen comrade out of the way.

_Hard shell. A carapace? Too much effort to penetrate it. _

He backed off as the monster shoved its body at him. The tongue lashed out; he caught it with his gauntlet, the Reinforced steel screeching as the appendage dragged across the surface, and swung his sword down on it. It cut off easily, and he threw aside the squirming piece.

He struck at the legs, feeling them break easily.

The monster sagged towards him. His sword plunged easily between the gaps in its shell. Dark blood rushed out as the yoma squealed in dismay.

Then his sword found its thin neck and its head rolled.

As the body collapsed, he turned to the other men. Their stares were a mix of awe and fear. "Hit the legs. Cut off the tongue. Aim for the gaps. Don't stand at its front. Cut off the head and it dies."

They nodded.

He looked over the edge towards the city and saw other shelled yoma in the streets. "Go!"

As the guards scattered, all terrified but organized, Shirou returned his attention to the carrier yoma just in time to see another volley of shelled yoma flying at the city.

"_Damn._"

* * *

><p><em>an: Sup._


	4. The Jaws of Demise, Part Two

**Chapter Four: The Jaws of Demise, Part Two**

His bow formed in his hand after a thought. Black, sleek, and metallic, the bow was the one unchanging weapon he had. But the bow alone wasn't enough; what he _needed_—

_penetration one homing two splitting one explosive one_

—was the arrow. It materialized in his hand, heavy and deceptively small. The arrowhead glowed a menacing red as he notched it onto his bow with a practiced motion. And with a single breath, it flew.

A single blur raced into the air with a soft whistle. Ten meters, twenty meters, thirty meters, fifty. As it rose, the arrowhead's red glow brightened and the arrow became a gleam of red light. It _accelerated_ towards the volley of shelled yoma before abruptly separating into several other lights, each controlling its flight to intercept its own target. The arrows roared like missiles as they colored red streaks in the sky that punched holes straight through the carapaces of their targets. A series of brilliant explosions ripped over the valleys surrounding the holy city, the combined shockwave sending a rush of air whipping through the parapet.

The ringing in his ears didn't stop Shirou from moving on to his next target: the carrier.

It was large, that was for certain. It was slow, but he was sure that once it reached the walls, the hordes of yoma it possessed would simply overrun the garrison and flood the city.

_explosive two_

He notched another arrow. With a quick breath, he let it loose.

It screamed as it soared towards the carrier. Not a moment later, another explosion consumed the lower half of the carrier, where the legs connected to the rest of the body. He saw the carrier freeze, two of its legs hanging mid-stride, before it marched on, as if unharmed.

_No effect? No, it slowed. It just recovered that fast._

His eyes caught the carrier's gaping wound close up as the swarm of yoma that clung into it scaled its skin. The lesser yoma buried themselves into the broken flesh and _dissolved_ themselves into the carrier to help close the wound. He scowled, brought to bear another arrow—_explosive two burning one_—and fired. There was a difference this time; after the smoke cleared, flames covered the carrier's wounds. It froze, this time staggering as fire ate its flesh. The lesser yoma that rushed to seal the wound found themselves batted by flames of such intensity that their bodies would char and harden seconds upon entering them. But the carrier remained standing, and he was wasting precious seconds he needed to clear the city of what yoma had managed to siege it.

He cast the carrier a look before turning his attention to the city, where he could already see his fellow guards battling the shelled yoma.

It was chaos down there.

Word of his advice spread quickly, but not quickly enough. Some of the guards were trying to herd the monsters to empty parts of the city, but were having a hard time in the narrow confines of the streets. Others were desperately hacking away at them with only a few hitting weak points. The guards were too scattered to coordinate properly, and the yoma were too strong to be taken down alone.

He could count the injured and dead, and both counts were too high for his liking.

_But I can't leave the carrier alive. It will shoot more yoma into the city. I need to consider the bigger threat. If I kill the carrier, the city will have a better chance at survival._

_Even if it means guards will have to die to kill the yoma already here._

He gritted his teeth, tasting the bitterness of his own thoughts, before stringing another arrow into his bow.

And then he saw the impossible.

* * *

><p>Explosions filled the air above Flora as she fought her way into Rabona. She heard the exertions of her comrades as they fought to stay together amidst the sea of yoma. As much as she wanted to slow down, she couldn't. Not now. Her sensory abilities were far from God-Eye Galatea's level, but there were strong enough to inform her that yoma had already breached the city.<p>

The situation was dire. What disgusted her the most, though, were the lack of warriors fighting alongside her. Three—that was how many joined her. Three of forty-six.

One of the lesser yoma jumped at her. Flora's sword drew a gust as it bisected the creature. Several attacked her flanks at once. A moment later, her sword left all of them as dark puddles in the ground. She spared a glance behind her, at the team she found herself leading. A number seventeen, twenty-four, and forty-three led by a number seven; she didn't like their odds. Getting to the city was itself a task, not to mention saving it. But Flora stifled her complaints and pressed on, hoping to get her team to the walls in one piece.

"Damn it, these things are endless!" shouted Yuliana.

"Shut up and keep swinging!" Eliza shouted back.

The job was proving to be more dangerous by the second. At first Flora had thought it was a gathering of small yoma crossing the mountains. Her team would have been more than enough for that. But by the time they caught up to the massive yoma that towered far above them, they were already surrounded.

Their formation, made last minute, was best suited for getting them into city. She led the four, with Yuliana behind her. Taking up the rear were Eliza and Zelda, both tasked with defending their backs.

Zelda was taking the worst of the attack. The yoma swarmed at them from her side, which was closest to the massive yoma, and the number twenty-four was doing her best to kill all of them. From her heavy breathing, Flora guessed Zelda to be at her limit. If they were to fall, Zelda would be the first to.

A yoma caught her eye as it jumped at her. Flora sucked her teeth as she cut it down.

"Flora, we need to rotate!" Eliza said. "I don't think Zelda can—"

The ground beside Zelda exploded. The yoma that were hounding Zelda flew apart, leaving the number twenty-four intact. A series of fast-paced explosions rolled off the carrier, causing it to stumble backwards.

"What the hell? Where are these explosions coming from?" Yuliana asked.

Flora didn't have an answer. She didn't sense any other fellow warriors near them, nor could she believe the city to have weapons powerful or accurate enough to do so.

More yoma dove mindlessly at them. Flora heard a sharp whistle, the hissing of wind, and the yoma were blown away. She saw the blurred shape of an arrow sail by. There was an unperceivable widening of her eyes as something clicked. A tiny smirk made its way to her lips.

"We have support," she said above the booms. "Ignore the yoma. We're headed full speed to the city."

She looked at Zelda, asking the silent question: _Can you make it?_

Zelda caught the look and nodded. Flora smiled, cut down a couple of yoma that got too close, and ran. She could hear her team doing their best to keep up. She caught another arrow flying by her, aimed behind her to the right, and then heard cursing. While she didn't see them all, she knew the arrows kept coming, alternating between covering her and her team. In the corner of her mind, she could _feel_ the yoma presence around her team diminish until the horde around them became navigable.

"Is it me or is this getting easier?" Eliza asked.

"There is an archer," Flora responded. "That archer is currently giving us passage to the city."

"Archer? Where?"

Flora's silver eyes traced the path which the arrows sailed by, pressing her vision as far as she could with her demonic energy until she could barely make out the figure standing atop the walls.

"Who knows?" she said.

* * *

><p>Arrows flew as quickly as they materialized in Shirou's hands, intercepting shelled yoma, striking the carrier, and covering the fast group of fighters approaching the city through the ocean of yoma. His circuits buzzed warmly, feeling wonderful after a month of sparing use.<p>

The party of warriors had nearly reached the walls. He had no idea how to get them inside the city—as gifted as they seemed in dealing with the yoma he doubted they could last _all_ of them—but at least he could keep an eye on them when they were closer. As they disappeared beneath his vision, Shirou let loose another arrow. It was different than the others. As it arced, it split into several red streaks, then again and again until well over five hundred explosive arrows consumed the carrier.

"Amazing."

Shirou _whirled_, his black bow vanishing as the materialized blade in his hand was deflected by a white greatsword. A woman with curled locks of blonde hair that reached past her shoulders watched him impassively. Silver eyes met greying brown.

"Who are you?" he asked, his words as cold as ice.

"I am what you call a Claymore. Number seven." She blinked, her eyes focusing on his empty hand. If she was surprised, she hid it well behind a mask of calm indifference. "Where is your bow?"

"You were part of the group down below. How did you get—" He stopped himself. Was it so hard to figure out how they scaled the wall? He could do it. He knew plenty of others who could do similar things. And from how he had seen this woman handle the yoma, it wasn't such a farfetched thought that she wasn't entirely _normal_. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see what weapon was damaging that voracious eater so."

"Voracious eater?" he repeated with a raised brow. Crap! He hesitatingly returned his attention to the yoma, watching the smoking husk, reduced greatly from the scale of the previous explosion, begin to move. "Nevermind," he said. "I hope you're here to help. Can you and your friends handle the yoma in the city?"

"Yes, we can."

"Alright." And then, half his mind wondering if he could trust her, Shirou summoned his bow again.

_penetration two homing two splitting three_

He notched the arrow and fired, the wind roaring as the arrow split into hundreds more that all honed in on the carrier. His eyes widened as the penetrative strength he imbued the projectile gouged meter-deep craters all across the monster—then nothing. If he didn't know any better, the yoma's sheer mass and abnormal regeneration was simply too much to overcome half-heartedly. Indeed, the charred areas of its flesh were breaking off in large pieces only to rapidly reform.

"Current attributes aren't enough. Need something stronger," he grumbled.

_homing three splitting three holy five_

A heavy growl rose from the bottom of his throat as his next arrow formed. He felt the heat in his body, flooding through his circuits as he prepared what he _knew_ would annihilate the carrier.

Unfortunately, it happened to be even more noticeable than his explosive arrows.

Punctuated with a sigh, he fired.

* * *

><p>Flora remained silent as the archer turned away, her own sword lowering as he did so. She didn't voice her surprise at the black bow that suddenly appeared in his hand—out of thin air. Neither did she comment on how unlikely it was for him to hit the carrier from such a distance. She wasn't even supposed to be there, standing on the parapet of the holy city's walls. She was supposed to be fighting down below.<p>

Instead she watched with silent awe an arrow fly into the sky, turn into a bright red light that battered the voracious eater with fire. It was hard to believe how such a small thing could do such damage.

And then the second arrow flew.

* * *

><p><em>This must be hell<em>, was Harold's first thought after he drew his mace.

The monster in front of him was unlike anything he had ever seen. Blood ran down its face as a woman, someone Harold thought he recognized, fell in two pieces on the stone-lined street.

The captain struck first, his men at his back.

A crack formed on the monster's brittle leg when his mace struck.

Its tongue lashed out at him, tearing his armor apart like it was wet paper. His left pauldron and innumerable rings from his underlying chain mail clattered onto the street. Harold swung again, catching that same leg and shattering it. The monster roared and, as his men's pikes scratched its carapace, it threw its body at him. He raised his shield only to bounce off the monster's size. He lost his grip on his mace and it fell out of reach. Harold struggled to get up, feeling dazed and winded from his landing.

One of his men had a hammer. The man swung at the carapace and cracked it a bit. The monster's tongue lashed out in retaliation and took that man's arm clean off. Blood spurt from the wound and splattered everywhere.

It was almost surreal as he saw, from the corner of his eye, another of his men hit the ground. This man had lost his leg, the stump bleeding a pool around him.

Harold threw away his shield and retrieved his weapon. He aimed for the legs again, and with a furious rage, snapped them until it fell. The monster didn't go down without a fight; it curled into its body, forming a perfect sphere, and with an impossible strength rolled itself into the crowd of soldiers. One man was unfortunate enough to fall right in its way and was crushed, armor and all.

"Gods save us," Harold muttered. "Teresa have mercy on us. Clare give me courage."

The sphere unfolded, and the monster sent them a mocking glare with its hideous face. Its mouth opened, its mandibles tucked away, and its tongue shot out. A man raised a shield only to have it punctured through and into his heart. The tongue twisted and penetrated the back of another soldier. And another. And another.

Harold grabbed the appendage and tore it open with his teeth. Black blood spewed from his mouth as he screamed, charging at the monster with reckless abandon.

Fueled by anger and fear, he didn't notice another monster emerge from a ruined house until it was too late.

Harold fell into the ground. He couldn't feel one of his legs.

The words that came from his lips were the first thing that came to his mind. "Catherine save us from the unrighteous. Abigail, grant us a way in your infinite wisdom."

He heard scratching against the stone. The monster he had worked so hard to cripple rose as its legs regenerated.

He stared at death's eyes.

_Heavens, hear us._

Time seemed to slow, then.

The sun dimmed. It was as if dusk had suddenly come, despite the day having just started. The sky grew a dark blue, almost violet, and the sun's light turned a shade of red. As he watched the clouds darken, he feared the very ending of the world. It would make perfect sense; with these monsters in the holy city, killing and slaughtering his men like demons from hell, Harold believed the end of everything was upon them.

And yet as the world dimmed, a bright light rose into the heavens. Reaching until it passed the clouds. An intense light, a star on the earth just beyond the walls, washed the darkness away.

The guard captain's hands shook. His eyes watered until fat tears rolled down his cheeks. Even the burning pain crippling his body seemed to fade in the brilliance of what he was seeing. The light intensified before it swept through the city, washing over him with a warmth that seeped into his soul. He could no longer hear the sounds of fighting, the wails of his men dying, or the throaty rumbles of the demons plaguing his city. The heavens saw their plight and answered. Laughter bubbled out of him as that light surged, enveloping everything he could see in white. The monsters closing in on him disappeared as if they never existed.

As Harold lost his consciousness, he had to wonder.

_Is this for real?_

* * *

><p>As the carrier yoma's form vanished in an overwhelming explosion of light, Shirou prepared himself for the fallout. He had his guesses as to how Rabonians regarded magic. Something akin to the Salem witch trials, he imagined. When he turned to see that woman from before staring at the fading aura of light where the carrier yoma once stood, the tiny, impossible hope that <em>maybe<em> no one had seen his little trick disappeared.

_Now, how do I explain this…?_

Flora then snapped out of her daze, her eyes locking with his. What was reflected in those eyes he did not know. They stared for a moment before he saw something in her click.

Gracefully, Flora bowed her head, then lowering herself to one knee. Her giant sword rested flat on the parapet across from her. A strong memory hit him, and he felt immensely nostalgic. He shook it off, lifting his gaze from Flora to the remaining men on the parapet. There were few, but they too regarded him with hushed awe. When Flora knelt, the men looked at each other and slowly did the same. It wasn't what Shirou was expecting—less screaming and far less fire to burn him alive. He felt lost for a moment, wondering what to do, before descending the parapet.

When he emerged from the wall, he was greeted with cheer. _Applause._

He had no idea what was happening anymore.

Civilians and soldiers, clerics and merchants gathered around, hoisting him off his feet and carrying him off. In the corner of his eye, he caught people kneeling—_kneeling_—at his procession, muttering chants to themselves.

As he faced the brightening sky, a stream of thoughts crossed his mind.

_They saw me do magic. The wall isn't so tall that you can't see anyone standing at the top. They saw me do magic, so why aren't they scared?_

_They're celebrating. Why are they carrying me? I mean, I—wait, maybe they think I'm a hero?_

_Maybe they're not scared of my magic?_

His heartbeat sped up. The possibility that he could be accepted by the city never crossed his mind in the past month. It was why he so desperately hid his magecraft. It had worked until now, for he never needed such power to help his fellow guard. As his procession—shouting "Shirou! Saint Shirou!" at the top of their lungs—passed the wreckage of a fallen house, he was struck with the weight of guilt.

It occurred to him then that there were people dead from this attack. The city might not have been overrun, but not everyone made it out alive.

_Perhaps if I had used my magecraft earlier, then maybe things would have turned out better._

As the growing cheers drowned out all other noise, Shirou bitterly reminded himself how far away he was from being the hero he wanted to be.

* * *

><p><em>an: Papers for English done. Whew._

_I'm anticipating readers complaining _That's not how Unlimited Blade Works works! _I want to head that off._

_My answer: No shit. You think I'm stupid?_

_And please, _please,_ don't spam me with questions on how the UBW works. I'll reveal it bit by bit._


End file.
